


Black Velvet

by TheDoctorAndRiversArmyOfPeppers



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-18 00:24:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9354026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDoctorAndRiversArmyOfPeppers/pseuds/TheDoctorAndRiversArmyOfPeppers
Summary: Black was what people wore when they were in mourning. The Doctor decided he was going to wear an awful lot of black. He had an awful lot to mourn.





	

**Author's Note:**

> All quotes belong to Steven Moffat and the BBC.

River Song rolled off of the Doctor and curled up into his side on the comfortable mattress. Her skin was flushed and breathing ragged and the Doctor wouldn't, or couldn't take his eyes off of her.

Yellow-orange light seeped in through the curtains and lit up River's beautiful curls, and made her soft skin seem like sweet honey. He wanted to sink into her, to be joined with her, for them to never be parted.

She watched him closely with green eyes that sparkled with unshed tears. He was easily lost in the never ending love that poured from them, only for him. He was easily lost in all of her.

They were both tired and sated, and they both wanted more. Both _needed_ more. But they knew they weren't going to get it. Because the sun was coming up on Darillium, and their time together was coming to an end.

The Doctor buried his face in her neck, teeth scratching on skin. River frowned despite enjoying the attention. Gently pushing him away, she turned to face him. She had her serious face on and that, combined with her obvious sadness, looked utterly beautiful on her.

The Doctor had the good sense to look terrified, rather than kiss the expression off River's face. This time, he rather believed the distraction wouldn't be welcome.

"Find someone," she said simply.

"Do we have to do this now?" he sighed and she nodded. "What if I don't want anyone to travel with me? Can't I just be alone?"

"No," River stated firmly. "That never turns out well and you know it. I won't have you ending up in that state because I'm not there to throw things at you anymore."

The Doctor chuckled despite himself and River moved her hand to his cheek. Her eyes caught his and they held each others gaze.

"I don't want you to be alone," she told him, her voice braking, and the Doctor felt his hearts follow it's example. "I want you to be happy again, when I'm gone. Can you do that for me?"

He nodded even though he doubted he could. That might turn out to be the first promise to her he'd ever brake. Hopefully it would be the _only_ one.

Tears fell from his eyes and hit the pillow as he brought his own hand up to cover hers, thumb stroking across her fingers.

"There's something I need you to know," she continued. "It's important."

"Okay," the Doctor croaked out hesitantly, gut knotting up in several interesting ways that would keep even Robert Baden-Powell guessing.

"I love you," River told him gently.

"I know," the Doctor assured her.

"I know you do. I just want to say how happy you've made me. I know you have always considered yourself to be a bad husband..."

"Those were jokes," the Doctor interrupted, unsure that he could take where the conversation was going.

"Yes, that's the way you meant it. But I know you believed it, no matter how many times I corrected you. And I won't have that. You have been a marvelous husband and I've been very lucky. I don't deserve you and I never have..."

"That's certainly not true," he interrupted again.

"You say that," River sniffed.

"River, stop..."

"No. You shut up and listen," she ordered with a wet-eyed glare. "You are marvelous. You have accepted my faults..."

"You accepted mine."

"You've looked after me, caught me every time I fell and forgave me every time I disappointed you. And you never seriously complain about it. I couldn't ask for better."

"But before, I allowed you to think I never..."

"That doesn't matter anymore."

"Of course it does, River."

"No. I just need you to know, when all of this is over, that you got it right. You weren't hopeless, you didn't upset me, you didn't make a fool of yourself. It's been perfect. All this time I've spent with this face of yours, and every other, has been the best part of my life. You made my life worth living. Thank you."

The Doctor pulled River into his arms, holding her tightly to him and crying quietly into her hair. He didn't want her to see him as he fell apart. His tears were wet in her hair, and her hand stroked up and down the bare skin of his back.

"So," she continued, "when I say I love you, I bloody well _mean_ it. I need you to know that before I leave. With every cell in my body, _I love you_."

"I love you too," he whimpered brokenly and she held him tighter. "More than anything."

It wasn't enough. It would never match up to her glorious speech, but it would do for the moment. He would tell her how he felt later, when he thought about what he would say and had worked up to it. It was hours 'til morning, he had time.

But probably not enough. Emotions inhibited his mental processes and thinking became like walking through fluffy treacle. So he tried to not think, and instead burrowed his face into her beautiful hair.

They finally released each other, when they were as composed as they could be.

"You look shattered," River commented.

"Thank you," he wrapped his arm around her waist and tugged her back to him.

She rested her head on his chest and listened to his hearts beating, memorising the sound of every thud and the way his skin smelt, and how he felt against her cheek.

"You should sleep," she suggested as he yawned.

"You know I won't," he kissed the top of her head. "And anyway, I'm not tired."

River's eyebrows shot up her forehead. She wasn't fooled. The Doctor had stayed permanently awake for most of the past week, watching her constantly, drinking in her every inch. It was, after all, his last chance.

It had begun to show, though. He started yawning frequently and rubbing his eyes when he thought she wasn't looking. He was practically falling asleep on his feet. River had no idea how he'd survived their recent frantic lovemaking.

She couldn't let his sleep deprivation continue. It would all be easier on them both if he were asleep, and she had no intention of putting him through another difficult goodbye if she could help it.

River shifted her head to his shoulder where she could see him and ran her fingers through his soft, grey hair. The Doctor looked down at her with all the love in time and space shining at her through his tear-drained eyes.

She lent up into him and kiss him gently. Her tongue met his lips and he parted them so it could slip through into the heat of his mouth. She groaned as his tongue slipped over hers and his hand moved to cup her face.

River pulled back soon after, face flushed and swollen lips a darker shade of pink. It was a sight the Doctor wanted to remember forever. He'd make sure that he did.

The first birds could be heard chirping outside, and River knew it was time. She swallowed back a guilty lump in her throat and fought back against the fresh tears forming in her eyes.

"Goodnight, sweetie," she smiled sadly.

"Very," the Doctor responded mournfully

She chuckled. Then, with an apologetic expression on her face, she put her hands to his head, telepathically sending him into a deep slumber.

She watched him dream, letting out a tear. She was going to miss him. No, more than that, a part of her would die the second he was lost to her. Something within her felt like it had already gone. She stood at the beginning of a bleak future.

River was worried she would wallow. She hated wallowing. She wasn't going to allow it. Maybe she would throw herself into danger yet more recklessly, as if to get it all over with, trying to not think of how the thrill of the case always reminded her of _him._

Maybe...

 

 

When it was time for her to go, River disentangled herself carefully from her sleeping husbands arms, and climbed out of bed. Her eyes lingered on him as she stood, naked in the warm, morning air.

It took a few minuets for her to be able to tear her eyes from him. She didn't have time to entertain sentiment but she couldn't seem to help it. Damn that man, he'd made her go soft in her old age.

River picked the Doctor's clothes up off the floor and put them on. She didn't bother with knickers and was thankful, at least, for the soothing affect of the Doctor's trousers being next to her skin. She wrapped her arms around her, enjoying the feeling of his shirt and hoodie's fabric against her. Soon it would be the closest thing to being held by her husband she'd ever have.

River pulled her suitcase from under the bed and began throwing some of her things into it. She didn't really care anymore, she just took the things she'd miss and left the rest for him to remember her by.

The last thing she packed was her diary. That, she placed carefully with one of the Doctor's shirts wrapped around it for protection. She hoped he wouldn't mind her taking so many of his clothes. She hoped they wouldn't stop smelling of him.

Then she was ready to leave. She placed a note for him on her pillow and took one last, lingering look at him.

Hot tears fell down her cheeks again. It was annoying how they kept doing that. But they wouldn't stop. River knew the rest of her life was going to be the hardest thing she'd ever do. She never wanted to live it without him.

And now all she had were seconds. Mere seconds were not enough for her last sight of him, nor were twenty-four years. But there was nothing to be done.

With every ounce of self control she possessed, River tore her eyes from the Doctor, inputted coordinates into her vortex manipulator and left. She faded from the room for the last time with a flash of blue lightning.

Her husband was left sleeping peacefully in bed, blissfully unaware that he was alone.

 

 

The Doctor woke to the sweet birdsong signaling dawn. He inhaled deeply through his nose, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He still felt so tired. He just wanted to go back to sleep with his wife in his arms, as usual. She didn't normally sleep this far away from him. He knew something was wrong.

Then he remembered what day it was.

He groaned and mentally cursed himself for falling asleep on this night of all nights. He couldn't believe he'd allowed himself to fail River so terribly, he owed her every second before they had to leave and he'd planned on them spending their last few hours awake and together. And now he'd taken that away from them both.

His hand reached across the covers towards River, so he could pull her close and apologise for finally ruining everything.

But his hand never found her.

The Doctor's eyes snapped open and he discovered, to his utter horror, that her side of the bed was empty and had long since gone cold.

In a state of blind panic, he threw the sheets off himself, leapt out of bed and pulled his dressing gown over his naked shoulders as he stormed out of the room.

"River!" he shouted loudly. _"River!"_

His hearts pounded in his chest when he didn't get a reply.

The Doctor searched every room in the cottage like a bull in a china shop, looking for his brilliant, beautiful wife. He practically threw the doors off their hinges as he tore them open. His ferocity seemed as though he were liable to tare the cottage apart stone by stone, if it meant his precious wife would be found.

By the third fruitless search of the house, he knew he had to accept that she wasn't on Darillium anymore. He would never find her there. It was a realisation that killed him inside.

He trudged limply back up to their room and flopped onto the bed, all energy sapped and all fight having been fought out of him. Tears came back to sting his eyes once more as the terrible truth sank in.

She'd _gone._

That's when he spotted the note on her pillow.

The Doctor grabbed the note in his trembling fist, crumpling it in the process. He straightened out the ceases and ran his shaking fingers gently along the paper. He'd known she wouldn't leave without saying anything, she would never do that to him. But thinking this could very well be their last correspondence was braking his hearts, to put it mildly. He could feel them, heavy and tight in his chest, with barely a thread of hope stopping them from dropping to his feet and smashing into billions and billions of pieces.

Tears dropped from his eyes and splashed onto the note. He wiped them away with a thumb as he considered what she might have written. A long explanation as to why she left the way she did, perhaps? But no, he could already guess her reasons so River would have no need to tell him. She had obviously wanted to make it easier for him, or else she might never have left at all and the paradoxes that would cause would've been disastrous.

A massage to save him from his grief, then. But anything and everything she could possibly have said would never close the gaping hole left by her. Still, he knew her well enough to believe she'd try.

He didn't want to open the note. He didn't want it to be over. Right in that second he still had a piece of her left and if he read it, he'd loose that, too.

But he knew he had to. He couldn't stand not knowing. So he drew in a shaky breath and steeled himself.

His fingers moved to open the note carefully and he read the massage.

 

_'Goodbye, sweetie. xxx'_

 

That was all.

The Doctor suddenly had difficulty breathing. His lungs didn't seem to be of the impression he needed air to live. Maybe that was a good thing.

He crawled back between the bedcovers. The wet patch from last night was still damp and he just lay there with it against his skin, mind in an emotional limbo as his breathing calmed. He couldn't take it in. He didn't want to take it in.

_She'd gone._

 

 

A few hours had passed before the Doctor found the strength to leave their bed. His eyes were red and he'd run out of tears to cry.

He noticed his clothes from the day before were gone. River must've taken them, he realised. She'd stolen his clothes! Damn woman. Damn, remarkable woman! God, he missed her.

He numbly went to the wardrobe and pulled open the doors. His eyes ghosted over his usual blue and burgundy jackets and he shook his head. They weren't right.

Nothing was right now.

He decided on a grey pair of trousers and waistcoat, and a white shirt then headed down the stairs and out the back door. The TARDIS was waiting for him patiently in River's garden.

The Doctor hated gardening, so River had been given free reign of the decent sized plot of land. She chose the plants and decided where she'd put them, then handed the whole thing over to a gardener once it was complete and gardening had begun to bore her. She preferred taking things out of the soil to putting things in.

The Doctor surveyed the beautiful paradise she had created, and thought on how she'd never see it in proper daylight. That saddened him. Bored by it's upkeep or not, she was bloody proud of that garden. And rightly so.

It felt like a crime, that she would never see it at it's best.

A lump formed in the Doctor's throat so, worried he'd start sobbing again, he hurried over to that little-large paradise of his own - the TARDIS. He needed to get away from the house and garden as quickly as possible.

 

 

The Doctor hurried to the TARDIS wardrobe through the never-ending corridors of his ship.

Inside, he found mostly mens' clothes. All River's stuff was shut away from him and he was grateful for that. He went searching through the rails and rails of apparel his timeship had left him and noticed a recurring theme. Every jacket and coat he passed was black.

The only time he had worn a black jacket with that face on was when he was wearing his posh suit. He'd hardly worn that before he first brought River to Darillium. So the Doctor knew the TARDIS was trying to tell him something. And of course she was right.

Black was what people wore when they were in mourning. The Doctor decided he was going to wear an awful lot of black. He had an awful lot to mourn.

He looked through the rails again and found a black, velvet jacket. He took it off the rail and examined it. It was a similar cut to the one Clara had liked, the one she said looked Doctory. He had mentioned this to River and she'd agreed. He decided that jacket would be just right.

He tried it on and looked at himself in the mirror. The jacket looked good, he was definitely keeping it. Then he noticed a red mark on his neck, just peaking above his collar. It was a love bite.

His fingers caressed the mark River had given him the last time they made love and wished he could fix it so it would never fade. Then the whole Universe would see he was marked as hers forever.

Inside he knew that he was.

 

 

Nardole's head had been easer to stick back on than he'd thought, which was a relief.

River had told him to find someone to travel with and he had promised her he would, so he chose Nardole. The circumstances of their meeting proved he was good enough for River and the Doctor respected her judgement. Also, they had her loss in common. Nardole had been friends with his late wife so there would be no comments implying that he was over reacting, like he was used to receiving from other people he'd traveled with. Nardole knew how wonderful she was, and the value of what he'd lost.

So he and Nardole bonded quite quickly in their travels together. So much, in fact, that the newly reassembled man tended to fuss him like a mother hen. The Doctor would never allow him to know that he was grateful.

The Doctor was glad that Nardole had agreed to help him, and that he was actually quite eager. Because, together, they had a quest that they had to complete. And it was something the Doctor couldn't do alone.

 

 

"Doctor!" Nardole called loudly as he ran up to the edge of the crater.

He peered over into the large and fairly deep hole in the ground, hoping to see his friend alive, well and complaining about his concern again. But the Doctor was nowhere to be seen.

Nardole began to panic. He did that a lot, but he found his association with River, and now the Doctor, was helping lessen that. His new-found courage surprised him.

He bravely stumbled down the side of the crater as carefully as he could. He skidded a bit, with the loose earth under him, and managed to become positively filthy. Once he reached the bottom, he brushed himself down picked his way through the flaming debris from the building that had stood on that spot mere minuets ago.

"Doctor!?" he called again, and kept calling every few seconds. "Doctor! _Doctor!!!"_

He ran through the wreckage, looking for anything that resembled the emergency generator. Nardole knew that that was where the Doctor was when the explosion occurred.

There were other people scrambling around the site, looking for friends and loved ones. When the rescue authorities finally arrived, they'd have a job clearing them all out.

Nardole noticed a woman in a suit comforting one of her colleagues who had a concussion, while one of the cleaning staff died alone behind her. It made Nardole feel sick, but he went up to her anyway.

"Excuse me, ma'am," he began shakily, disgust evident only behind his eyes. "I don't suppose you've seen a tall, thin man with grey hair and an old face, have you? He's dressed all in black and has a Scottish accent."

The woman regarded Nardole in a way that seemed she'd rather be doing anything other than talk to him, as if his very existence was an abomination and a personal insult to her. So he gave her a shark-like grin.

"I'd be most grateful," he added slowly, to draw out her discomfort.

"No, I'm terribly sorry," she replied, which Nardole translated to mean: _'no, now bugger off before I have to ruin my hands by punching you in the face.'_

"Well, thank you anyway," he left her to continue his search, wishing something vile would happen to the evil woman.

Nardole hurried to reach the other side of a tall support beam that had been blocking his path. Once he'd got past it, he spotted a huge piece of the generators casing a few feet ahead of him. It was half buried in among some other bits of scrap that Nardole recognised as being from either the generator or part of the fabric of the building.

He carefully shoved the useless scrap aside, all too aware that he might just be putting more stuff on the Doctor, rather than taking it off. But he was panicking too much for it to stop him.

Nardole moved a rather large sheet of metal, cutting his hands in the process, and discovered the Doctor was curled up snugly beneath it.

Nardole felt a rush of relief, then it dawned on him that the Doctor wasn't moving. Panic washed over him again as he dropped the sheet metal on the ground and scrambled into the scrap to help his friend.

He checked the Doctor's pulse. Both his hearts were beating a little bit fast and Nardole wasn't sure what to make of it. The man lifted the Doctor up to drag him free, and when he did, he could see the other side of the Time Lord's head.

It was covered in blood.

Then it seemed like blood was everywhere. The black of the Doctor's clothes had disguised the fact that they were covered in it and Nardole began to panic again. He tried to calm himself down. He was no good to the Doctor like that.

He dragged the Doctor free of the wreckage as gently as he could, and managed to get him down to the ground without incident.

Nardole lightly slapped the Doctor's face repeatedly whilst calling his name and the Doctor began to stir.

"You've got to stop doing this, Doctor," Nardole chastised. "You've become very reckless since you lost her. I'd say you have an unconscious death wish but it'd change nothing."

"I was always reckless," the Doctor argued weakly, coughing.

"You've got worse... You keep getting worse. You'll end up dead if you..."

"I survived, didn't I?" he growled, and Nardole knew it was useless arguing his point.

"I'll fetch the TARDIS," he said checking his watch so he could double back and collect the Doctor immediately. "I won't be long."

As soon as Nardole got back to the other side of the support beam, the TARDIS materialized around the Doctor. Then, as soon as she had appeared, she dematerialized again, heading for the nearest hospital.

 

 

The Doctor was confined to the TARDIS until his wounds healed. He wasn't happy about that. He wanted to be out in the Universe, saving planets and nearly getting himself killed again. Life was too slow for him, he couldn't bare this pause in his adventures, he needed to get moving.

The TARDIS must've known what he was going through, so he was annoyed at her lack of cooperation. The front doors remained sealed as if they weren't even there, no matter how many times he pleaded with his ship to release him.

Because it was in his large, sentient timeship that his grief caught up with him.

He had too much time to think without an adventure, so all his thoughts drifted naturally to _her._ Everything reminded him of her. Everything made him sad.

The TARDIS felt too big, now. There wasn't a room in the Universe that River couldn't fill with her presence, and the whole interior of the TARDIS was no exception. It was like you could tell she was there, even when she wasn't in the room. She could make everything so much less dull.

But now all he had was grey, almost-echoey corridors, containing nothing but his grief, guilt and sorrow. It was like a black void had descended upon his ship and he couldn't spend too much time in it or else he feared he may go mad. Or mad _der_.

No, the TARDIS was too much his wife's, too steeped in memories of her, for him to stay there for as long as they were making him stay. It was as if River had been written into the very walls and he was slowly losing what he had left of his mind.

If only the TARDIS would let him out.

 

 

Once he had recovered from his injuries enough to leave the TARDIS, the Doctor took Nardole to New York. He couldn't express how good it felt to be out of the box again. It was like a breath of fresh air after being nearly strangled to death.

Nardole was pleased with the obvious change in him. The Doctor realised quickly that the other man thought he was beginning to get over his loss. The silly little man. The Time Lord knew the only way he was ever going to get over this was by having his wife by his side again. And they both had an idea of how likely that was.

But out in New York, it didn't take the Doctor long to become intrigued by the queer goings on at a global scientific institution and decide to investigate. And that was where he met reporter, Lucy Fletcher.

Lucy had impressed the Doctor. She was very clever, asked the right questions, and was just a bit mad. The Doctor was starting to like her. But then her questioning turned somewhere he wished it didn't.

Harmony Shoal. A safe topic in itself, but Lucy wanted to know why _he_ was investigating it. She wanted to know why he needed to keep himself busy. And he really didn't want to go there.

"Why? What happened to you?" she'd asked quickly, oblivious to the hurt she'd drawn his attention to.

The Doctor felt a pang in his hearts at the reminder of what he'd lost. And yet again he was plunged into the black void within him, that was once filled by _her._

"Nothing," he replied, the only reply he was able to make.

Lucy didn't believe him.

Her hand reached for that damned toy she insisted upon torturing, but he managed to grab it first whilst drawing her attention to the telly.

He wasn't ready to talk about it yet.

He didn't think he ever would be.

 

 

"Fact me, baby, it's why I reassembled you," the Doctor told Nardole, as he began to descend one of the TARDIS staircases.

"No, sir, that's not the reason, is it?" Nardole corrected unhelpfully.

"Oh, just get on with it!"

"You cut me out of Hydroflax because you were worried you'd be lonely. And we both know why, don't we? But, oh, look at you, avoiding the subject," Nardole said as he examined the read out on the scanner screen.

"I'm not avoiding anything, I'm just trying to save a planet!" the Doctor retaliated, hearts burning.

Why did people keep bringing it up? It wasn't fair.

"Which is what you always do when the conversation turns serious."

The Doctor had to ask. He knew that. He'd been avoiding it for long enough. He _was_  going to ask how Nardole was getting along with the quest. So far it had all been bad news, so he wasn't sure he wanted to know. But he still had to ask.

 

 

It was the only thing he could do, make the ship crash. It was obvious.

Nardole wasn't too pleased about it, whereas the Doctor was having the time of his lives. Maybe Nardole was right. Maybe he had developed an unconscious death wish.

Romana accused him of having one quite a while ago. When they first met, in fact. But it wasn't true back then because he later discovered he was scared of dying. Maybe River's death had changed all that. Maybe he was going the same way Clara had after Danny died. Maybe...

But crashing down to the Earth in a giant bomb felt so freeing. It was certainly a lot more fun than it used to be. If he could possibly avoid dying, it would be even better.

The Doctor opened the door to the corridor, hoping to get back to the TARDIS to save New York, but those security drones were still outside. So that little plan ended with Nardole being semi-strangled by the door.

Time for plan B, then. Good.

The Doctor attempted to get back to the control bank, but fell to the floor and slid backwards to the wall. With a lot of effort, he was able to pull himself up to the controls, hoping to find a way to stop the ship's reactor from splitting on impact.

"What's plan B?" he heard Nardole ask over the din.

"I have no idea. But it's going to be a very big relief when I think of it," the Doctor shouted in reply.

"You are completely out of your mind!"

"How's that news to anyone!?"

Really, that man ought to have known by now.

"I know you miss her, but couldn't you just write a poem!?"

No. No, he couldn't just do that. It wasn't enough. _Nothing_ was enough.

 

 

The crisis had been averted and New York saved.

The Doctor and Nardole were sitting with Lucy and Grant at Lucy's table in her apartment, engaging in the human past time of chatting. The Doctor had had experience of this past time, and usually found it to be dull.

The conversation turned quite naturally to whether or not Grant was going to keep up being his superhero alter ego. It transpired that he wasn't.

Lucy had questioned that decision, but didn't seem against it. He said he'd keep the costume, just in case, but the Doctor didn't want them to worry.

"The world will be fine. I've been away for a while, but I'm back," he told them, smiling. "I'll take care of anything that comes up."

"You were away?" Grant asked, intrigued.

"Twenty-four years. What a night," Nardole added with a smile of his own.

The Doctor glared daggers at him. He'd had no intention to impart any more information, but his friend had made the journalist curious, and there weren't many things more dangerous than that.

"Where did you go?" Grant wondered.

"Wrong question," Lucy put Mister Huffle on the table between herself and the Doctor. "What was her name?"

"I'm sure that I must be busy," the Doctor said as he hurried to get out of his chair. "I'd better go."

"You okay?" Grant was growing slightly worried about his friend.

"Yes, yes, yes. I'm okay," he replied, obviously lying.

Lucy squeezed Mr. Huffle, stopping the Doctor mid-exodus.

"Things end. That's all," he said simply before making to leave again then thinking better of it. "Everything ends and it's always sad. But everything begins again too and that's always happy. Be happy. I'll look after everything else."

Then, after asking his friend to leave with him, the Doctor finally made it out of the apartment. Once he was through the front door, he ran back to the TARDIS as fast as he could.

Nardole got up to follow the Doctor at his invitation, but stopped, feeling he should explain.

"Her name was River Song," Nardole began. "They were together for a while, and they were very happy. And then she died, a long time ago, in a library."

"You sure he's gonna be alright?" Grant asked, face a picture of sad concern.

"He's the Doctor. He's very brave and he's very silly. And I think, for a time, he's going to be very sad. But I promise, in the end, he'll be alright. I'll make sure of it. Bye."

 

 

The Doctor was alone in the control room. Nardole had gone to bed as soon as he'd got back from Lucy's apartment, stopping only to pat the Doctor sympathetically on the shoulder as he passed. So the Doctor was left just standing there, stareing at the console as if it were a lifeline that he wasn't sure he wanted.

He undid his collar, an act which brought tears to his eyes. But right at that moment he was alone. In that moment he wanted to remember.

River liked him with his collar undone. She said it made him look sexier. At home, he used to have his collar unbuttoned often. He used to catch her watching him the way a cat watched a mouse, and sometimes he would meet her gaze and undo another button. She used to love that. It always led to something requiring him to undo them all.

But now her gaze wasn't there for him to meet.

The Doctor went to get himself a bottle of whiskey to drown his sorrows. It wouldn't work.

His hand brushed the drinks cabinet door. He only knew of it because she accidentally showed him it was there, so he had always thought of it as hers. He would have to stop doing that. It hurt.

Once he had his drink, the Doctor climbed back up the stairs and sat down in one of the chairs. He had to think. He could never usually gave himself time.

It was the quest that needed thought. It was, after all, a very important quest which would, hopefully, make him feel much better in the end. And it was taking a lot of time.

Out of everything, it was the hope that brought him that was killing him the most.

Then he had another idea. He leaped up from his chair and hurried to the console. His hand found the dematerialization lever and pulled it dramatically.

And off the Doctor went, to his next adventure.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!:)


End file.
